Saturday, December 24, 2011

A primitive root; to swell up (literally or figuratively, active or passive); by implication, to favor or honor, be high or proud. Lev 19:32 -- honor the presence of an old man Isa 63:1 -- glorious in his apparel, Isa 45:2 -- level the mountains, Lam 5:12 -- the faces of elders were not honored. Dn 11:20 -- splendor of (the) kingdom

From Oxford English Dictionary: to address, salute, reverence, to worship as a deity, to pay divine honors to, to reverence with relative orrepresentative honors, to reverence or honor very highly; to regard with the utmost respect and affection, to offer worship. to like or admire very much, to regard with loving admiration and devotion, to love intensely or deeplyto enhance the appearance especially with beautifulobjects, to enliven or decorate as if with ornaments

No legislation can do this. No activism can make this possible. No series of columns can bring forth a child. Yet, we demand to honor those trinkets above what life happens to be. The fragility of goodness gets overwhelmed with selfish shouts and shabby egos.

We forget the meaning of adoration.

What and Whom we honor speaks to ourselves. Last August hundreds of people helped rededicate the grave of a young man who died at Okinawa in 1945. Cpl. John Fardy, Leo High School Class of 1940 was the posthumoius recipient of America's Highest Honor - the Medal of Honor. His grave marker made no mention of that fact. A historian, Dr. Terry Barrett brought this fact to every one's attention and Purple Heart Veterans, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan War veterans, Leo Alumni, Leo students and people who had heard of the story put in time, treasure and talent to rededicate the grave so that people would also honor a hero. That hero was as fragile as the day he was born. Like baby in the manger, his mother outlived him.

We honor our elderly.

We honor our spouses.

We honor our children.

We honor our family.

We honor our neighbors.

We honor our country.

We honor our church.

We honor ourselves in daily acts, thoughts and prayers.

Tonight we honor our Being. Our Being within God's Plan. I was blessed to witness the birth of my children. I honor that blessing. These births did not 'happen' they occurred as a consequence of something greater - the signal of God's love. Life is not tissue, impulse and liquid.

Two thousand plus years ago, in Roman occupied Judea, a carpenter and his expectant wife journeyed to fulfill their tax obligations and those requirements coincided with the necessities involved in allowing God to bring forth a child. Having witnessed the three births of my children, I understand that contractions and breathing and coaching and forceps and stirrups and in the case of my son a great deal of cutting without anesthetic were fundamental but not essential. God brought them forth, Malthus, Hegel, Nietzsche, Dewey and Sanger notwithstanding.

I adore my children and the woman who made them possible. I adore the child born in Roman occupied Judea during the tax collection while Quirinius was Governor in Syria.

I honor those of us who adore and honor God in the simple acts that honor others.

1 comment:

A year later than when you blogged but it still rings true. I've 'borrowed' your photo to illustrate a poem "O Emmanuel" by Revd. Dr. Malcolm Guite and am posting it round the house this Christmas! (A must-read.)And I've been enjoying the thought that Christ adores us as much as and more than we can ever adore Him.Merry Christmas to you, from a guy on the South coast of England! (www.andrewonline.net)

Windy Citizen Share

Dad always said that I couldn't find my butt with both hands. I can. Allow me to add this imperative -“Defend the unborn against abortion even if they persecute you, calumniate you, set traps for you, take you to court or kill you." - Pope Francis to celebrate Pro-life Mass, Vatican

About Me

A peach of a guy with all the sweetness one could expect from a life well-spent and in good company: short on brains but a terrific dancer!
Author:
Every Heart and Hand: A Leo High School Story
The Chorito Hog Leg, Book One: A Novel of Guam in Time of War